


dead ringer

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Not Really Character Death, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 09:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: Morse is nowhere to be found, there's a body in a car and everyone is trying their best not to jump to conclusions.(everyone thinks Morse is dead!!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> explanation - a prompt generator spat out "lab/rom-com/doppelgangers/insomnia" and i barely fulfilled any of it, BUT it inspired me for some juicy angst-y kinda stuff. Idk really I wrote this bc I liked the premise I then had . no idea how to finish it but like, I felt that the idea was too good not to write. This is not my best work but i had fun so like,,, enjoy! 
> 
> u can call this jake/morse if u want bc i want to and i like to think that's why he's so antsy
> 
> EDIT: okay so w the second chapter this becomes v much morse/jakes established relationship. u can just not read that bit if u want but yh lettign u know net chapter is jarse 
> 
> not set at any particular point in time just some point after Fugue.

It doesn’t look good, from the minute the body turns up. The boot of a car, cracked open, driven off the road into a row of hedges, and a pale hand, that’s all the initial report says. When Thursday gets to the scene, Jakes and Strange in tow, DeBryn is already there, pulling his little box of tools from his own car. They all nod at each other in quiet greeting as the doctor leads them to the sorry looking mess of a car. While DeBryn sets about prying open the booth to get a closer look at their body, Jakes sticks his head through the open door of the car. 

“There’s blood on the dash,” he says. Strange glances across the road and then points to the footpath on the other side.

“And over there. Whoever was driving’s hurt.” His eyes follow the trail of blood as it criss-crosses across the road, and fades out as the footpath turns into the woodland beside the road. Thursday nods.

“Let the local hospitals and GP’s know, in case he was that stupid, not that I think we’ll have much luck. In the meantime, Strange get a search going in there,” he tips his head toward the trees.

“With any luck the bugger’s more hurt than he realises, could still be in there.” Strange nods and turns away, calling uniform as he strides off.

Jakes joins Thursday just as DeBryn pries the boot open, and he’s the first to swear.

“Holy shit, that’s-”

“Can’t be,” Thursday snaps.

“Gentlemen, there’s no need to jump to conclusions,” DeBryn starts but even he has turned a few shades whiter. Because the body in the car with it’s long arms and slim frame; the body in the car, with half its face caved in?  

“It’s Morse.”

* * *

Jakes usually handles himself quite well at crime scenes, but he finds himself pacing back and forth across the road, Thursday’s eyes on the back of his head as he works his way through his third cigarette.

“Has anyone been to his house?” he asks. Thursday sighs, and when he speaks he sounds weary.

“He’s not there, Jakes, he… went to his sister’s this morning.”

“So someone’s called her?” Jakes says sharply, snapping his head up to stare Thursday down. He pointedly ignores the body DeBryn now has lying on the road. Thursday can’t though. The body, as beat up and broken as it is, is Morse’s. Even though it looks like someone has taken a crowbar, jammed it through an eye socket and pulled, it’s the same profile. The hair that isn’t matted with blood or brain matter, it’s the same shade and that hand, the hand that had been dangling from the car, he should have recognised it sooner.

It’s like he’s living the nightmare he’s had all too often before, the one where he gets to the scene, only this time the body on the ground is someone he knows. It’s been Win, in his dreams, one awful time it was Sam; it’s been Jakes and Strange before, and there was one confusing one where DeBryn was performing his own post-mortem. Only this time it’s all too real, the pain in his chest is all too real, and the body-  _ the victim  _ \- is Morse.

He coughs, trying to dispel the lump in his throat.

“Jakes if you’re not going to be of any help, go.” He means for it to sound like an order, but it doesn’t. Jakes isn’t going anywhere anyways. Thursday instead meets DeBryn’s eye.

“If you can’t do this doctor, none of us’ll think less of you.” DeBryn pauses for a moment, gloved hand hovering just above the side of the victims ( _ Morse’s _ ) jaw that’s still intact.

“Regardless of who this may or may not be,” he says slowly. “They deserve justice. I don’t think I’m being egotistical when I say that I am their best chance of getting it.” Thursday held the doctors gaze a moment longer, then nodded. He was right after all, they’d find the bastard that did this and then Thursday, he would make them pay. 

Whilst DeBryn begins making notes, and Thursday heads for the phone box just down the road, Jakes busies himself with the contents of the boot. The body itself has very little on it, no ID or keys, nothing to suggest a name or job of any kind. He tells himself that’s good news. So is the fact that the clothes crumpled in the booth are all regular, mid-range labels. They could be anyone’s jacket and shoes, Morse isn’t the only one to own that particular pair.

What’s left in the boot after Jakes has pulled the bloodstained clothes out tells a sorry story. A bloodied crowbar, a length of rope and a bundle of cloth.

* * *

Thursday reappears some twenty minutes later, his eyes dark. Jakes can already tell what he’s going to say, but he asks anyway.

“You spoke to his sister?” Thursday nods. DeBryn looks up for a moment. 

“He’s not there. Should have been there nearly three hours ago.” 

J akes swears.

* * *

Almost as soon as they get to the hospital, halfway down the corridor to DeBryn’s lab, the receptionist is hot on their tail, calling for Thursday. A case had come in that morning suspected mugging gone wrong, and the victim’s just woken up.

“Jakes?” he asks. The sergeant nods.

“I’ll stay with the doc, come find you if we get anything?” They share a quick farewell, and Thursday turns on his heel to follow the familiar path up to the emergency room. It takes a few minutes longer than usual to make the relatively short journey. It doesn’t feel right, doing this, when downstairs there’s most definitely a body that is most definitely Morse’s on the doctor’s table. None of this feels right.

He must look out of sorts, because the nurse who greets him flashes him a concerned look. She offers him a cup of tea that he refuses. In all honesty, he wants to get this over with. Question the victim, get something to put in the report, it can all be finished tomorrow. He puts his hand on the door, tries to muster up a comforting smile, and pushes it open.

Then he swears.

* * *

Waking up in hospital is, as Morse suspected most people would think, a bad sign. He isn't quite sure what to make of it when Thursday strides in, takes one look at him and nearly collapses.

 “You’re dead.” Thursday says. Morse glances down at himself, and then up again.

“No?” Thursday takes a step closer, and then reaches out a hand to pinch Morse’s arm.

“Ow?”

“You were  _ dead _ ,” Thursday says again. “DeBryn’s got you on a slab downstairs.”

Morse’s head hurts far too much for this.

“Sir, with all respect, I’m not and he doesn’t.” He sighs, one hand reaching up to poke at the bruise forming on his temple.

“I was about to leave for Joyce’s, but I remembered something about the Lentworth case, about the wedding rings.” He glanced over at his coat where it had been hung over the chair beside the bed, a nasty tear along one shoulder.

“Someone must’ve followed me out, assumed I had something valuable I suppose. Cornered me in the alley, and the next thing I know…” he waves a hand around the room.

“Beaten and bruised maybe, but I’m not  _ dead _ .”

“Some poor bugger is,” Thursday says. He shouldn’t look quite so happy about a dead man, probably.

“Got his face bashed in, but what we could see of him. Christ, Morse he’s your spitting image. We all thought-“

He stops himself short, because Morse is looking at him with that peculiar way of his, face saying nothing but eyes shining.

“Well, you’re okay then. Not dead.” His hand comes out to clasp Morse’s shoulder, the one not currently wrapped in bandages.

“Not dead, sir.”

* * *

The sound of pounding feet fill his ears as he leaves the ward and he manages to look up in time to see Jakes coming at him at considerable speed. There’s a smile on his face and Thursday can tell why.

“It’s not him,” Jakes says, breathlessly as he comes to a stop beside him. “It’s not him, the doc was checking him over, you know, undressing him and the like. Says Morse has got a scar,” he gestures to his side with one hand. “But whoever that is, they haven’t-” his mouth catches up to his brain, and he pauses.

“Sir? It’s not Morse.” Thursday nods, and then chuckles.

“I gathered as much, when I got a look at this one.” he jerks his head towards the door, watches as Jakes steps closer and catches sight of the figure in the bed through the glass.

“That fucking bastard…” he says softly, before slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the hinges.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to imaginationtherapy for inspiring a little epilogue of this!! and to Fitzrove for their lovely comments!! why not just commit and make this morse/jakes??? thats what it is now, they were dating the whole time. i cant write buildup so just have some jakes getting revenge on his boyfriend for making him think he was dead lol 
> 
> also No i dont have a foot fetish and yes i think morse is definitely ticklish.

Thursday manages to stop Jakes from landing one on Morse the minute he walks into the ward, but he does let Jakes lay into Morse for a while, if only because he’s too happy to do the same. Whilst Jakes berates Morse for worrying them all, for being on the streets so early, for being so  _ Morse  _ about it, Morse looks mighty confused, argues back that he can’t be held accountable if people who look remarkably like him choose to get murdered the day he gets mugged. The two bicker for maybe ten minutes or so, impressing Thursday who has time to leave, change his mind about that cup of tea, and return with the drink before they’ve even finished. 

Then it’s like they run out of steam. Morse deflates, falls into the cushions and Jakes collapses in the chair beside him. They share a look which becomes a quick shared smile and Thursday wonders if there’s some inside joke he’s missing. Not that he minds much, they seem to have got it out of their systems, as they start talking about the body in the car and of course Morse being Morse, he wants in on the case. Thursday has to put his foot down there. 

“You’re not on the case Mose, you’ve got the week off remember?” he says, knowing that won’t stop Morse in the slightest.

“At the very least, go home for today. Sleep it off, we’ll pick this up tomorrow. I can drop you if you like,” he offers. Morse shakes his head.

“Jakes has already said he’ll take me back, but thank you.”  The man’s already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as he goes to stand. Jakes’ hand goes out to steady him, and Thursday is reminded that Morse will be in good hands. He smiles, bids both of them a good evening, before taking his leave, wondering just how he’s going to describe today to Win.

* * *

Jakes drives them directly past Morse’s bedsit. Morse is too tired to even argue, and when the car pulls up outside Jakes’ flat, he pulls himself out with little complaint. He gasps though, as the movement tugs on a tender spot in his shoulder. He aches all over, and just standing like this makes his head spin a little. Jakes is by his side in an instant, gently wrapping an arm around Morse and helping him to the door.

He leaves Morse standing long enough to get his key in the door. In one movement, he kicks the door open and slides his arm back under Morse’s. He leads him down the hall, where he deposits Morse on the stairs. It says a lot that Morse isn’t grumbling about the indignity of it, but instead presses his head to the banister and waits while Jakes hangs up his coat and toes off his shoes. He does raise an eyebrow when Jakes kneels at the bottom of the stairs, but doesn’t say anything. Jakes shrugs as he begins untying Morse’s laces.

“I saw you wincing when you put them on. You could have just kept the slippers you know?” he looks up at Morse and grins. Morse huffs out a laugh and then grimaces.

“Don’t do that, it hurts,” he says, rubbing at a spot on his chest. Jakes glances up, a faux-innocent look on his face as he slips off Morses’ left shoe.

“What, make you laugh?” Morse glares at him, before dropping his head backward so he’s lying on the stairs. Jakes gaze falls back to Morse’s feet, and with a sly grin, he runs his thumb up the arch of Morse's shoeless foot.

The noise that comes out of Morse is somewhere between a yelp and a scream, as his head snaps up and he jerks his foot backwards. Jakes is quicker though, and he clamps a hand around Morse’s ankle. Morse stares at Jakes, eyes wide, and then says, in a low warning voice.

“Peter Jakes, don’t you dare.” So Jakes does it again, from to to heel this time, and it works exactly as planned. Morse giggles.

“Jakes I swear-” he does it again, and Morse can’t help laughing again, wriggling his foot in an attempt to get free. Jakes leans forward, bringing his hand up Morse’s ankle as he does. Morse pushes himself up on his elbows, puts on a stern face and goes to tell him to stop, but Jakes fingers find their way up his trouser leg, and suddenly he’s feeling flushed for all sorts of reasons. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Jakes lips are on his. It’s nothing too raunchy, it’s relatively short and sweet, but it leaves both of them breathless as they part.

Morse realises he’s lying on Jakes’ stairs, with Jakes now leaning over him on all fours, one hand still halfway up his leg. He realises they must look a sight, and that it’s doing the bandages on his shoulder no good, but strangely enough that doesn’t bother him. 

He leans up and kisses Jakes again.

“When I thought,” Jakes says when he pulls back, and there’s a slight wobble in his voice. “When I thought you were gone, the only thing I could think of was this.” Morse smiles.

“Making out on your stairs?” Jakes gives his foot a nudge.

“No, you daft bugger, this,” he brings up a hand and runs a thumb along Morse’s lower lip. 

“You don’t smile much, not a proper smile. And you don’t laugh much, I don’t think anyone at the station has heard you laugh. I’ve seen both,” he dips down and sneaks another kiss. “Would be an absolute crime to rob the world of them.” His smile falters a little. 

“Of you."

The atmosphere shifts suddenly. Jakes shakes his head, and rocks back on his feet. He makes quick work of removing Morse’s other shoe and then stands slowly, offering a hand to Morse. Morse stares for a moment, before taking the hand and allowing himself to be pulled up and across, into Jakes’ arms. He finds himself ensnared in a tight hug, arms pinning him to the spot, and a nose buried in his hair. He smiles against Jakes’ chest.

“Don’t you ever do that again, Morse.” Morse loops his arms around Jakes’ waist. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

**Author's Note:**

> ew that ending is,,,, ew yh i dont like it but w/e maybe i'll come fix this up one day?
> 
> anyways uwu sorry for spamming the endeavour page lol, i hope y'all liked, lemme know what u thought? <3


End file.
